Lisa Stone - Stalker

Sleep would be impossible until he discovered who was responsible and what they wanted. Derek drained the last of his water and typed ‘Watching You’ into a search engine to check what companies, if any, had that name. Up came pages of web addresses where those two words appeared in the description of the website but no actual companies. He looked as far as the fifth page but only found a film and a book with that title. He checked Companies House but there wasn’t a company registered with that name, so whoever it was must be an individual working alone, which made him feel very uneasy.

It must be someone with a grudge who wanted to get their own back. Perhaps someone he’d upset? Obvious contenders were Khumalo and Hanks, but Khumalo didn’t seem the type and had reacted by getting angry and changing security company, while Hanks would surely be too worried about his wife to engage in a prank like this? Added to which neither of them, as far as Derek knew, had the technical skills needed to mount this sort of vendetta. This was someone who was well versed in computing knowledge like himself.

With the email open, Derek selected options from the dropdown menu and a display box opened showing the coding path the email had taken, all the way from the sender to him. There were lines and lines of code, which to the uninitiated made no sense at all but to Derek contained a route map.

Very soon he found that whoever had sent the email hadn’t used a virtual private network, which would make tracing them easier. Then, with the same ease he saw that the Internet service provider responsible for sending the email was a large firm based in the UK. He continued checking the code. If he wasn’t sure of a piece, he copied and pasted it into one of the online code breakers run by hackers.

Dawn broke and finally he had what he needed: the sender’s unique IP address giving the location of his computer. Not the actual street but the area of the town. To Derek’s amazement the sender lived a mile away on the other side of town. The only person he knew living in that area was Paul Mellows, his last apprentice. He began to relax. Of course, it made perfect sense. Paul had been angry when he’d let him go and despite paying him off with £1000, he’d clearly decided to get his own back and wage this ridiculous war.

He sat back and allowed himself a few moments of satisfaction. He had what he needed, and knowing who was behind it reduced the threat. He wasn’t afraid of Paul, the little runt. He’d go and see him later and make it clear he wasn’t paying any more and if he continued to harass him or demanded more money – which Derek assumed was what this was all about – he’d have no hesitation in going to the police. He had nothing to lose now his illegal online activities had been discovered, but Paul had plenty to lose and Derek had proof of his previous blackmail.

It was nearly 5am now, too early yet to go knocking on his door and wake his parents, and he needed to eat first; he was starving.

More confident than he’d been for some time, he went downstairs, took eggs and bacon from the fridge and threw them into a frying pan. He warmed a can of baked beans and boiled the kettle, and began humming Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro , a favourite of his. The theme of the opera was of revenge, which seemed appropriate given what he had on his mind. He took his plate of food and mug of tea into the living room and sat on the sofa. He hardly ever used this room when his mother was here; she and the television dominated it. But now the television was off and her chair was empty it seemed to have become neutral territory, although it remained a cold, friendless room with little natural light and not one he’d want to spend a lot of time in.

Plate and mug empty, he left them on the coffee table, then rested his head back and allowed his eyes to close. It had been a long night and soon a full stomach combined with exhaustion and he fell asleep.

He awoke to the sound of the neighbour’s dog barking and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Drat. It was eight o’clock.

He immediately stood. He’d slept longer than he’d intended. He wanted to catch Paul before he left for work and he was going to have to use the bus again. Never mind, he consoled himself, if Paul wasn’t in he’d leave a message telling him to contact him as soon as possible. He’d know what it was about, and would do as he asked if he knew what was good for him. Derek was in charge again.

Not wanting to delay leaving he quickly brushed his teeth but left showering and a change of clothes until he returned. He took his house keys and wallet from the hall table and went out the door, deadlocking it behind him. He walked swiftly along the street, keeping his eyes down and away from the prying busybody neighbours as he headed for the bus stop. A woman who lived a few doors away was already waiting but she turned her back when she saw him approach, which suited him fine.

Five minutes later the bus arrived and he went to the very back, which was empty and well away from the woman. He looked out of the side window as the bus began its stop-start journey, still feeling pretty pleased with himself. He had successfully been reunited with his friends and extended family all but three, had identified Paul, and later when he returned home he’d get down to the business of finding evidence to help his solicitor defend him as he’d asked him to. Against his advice Derek had confessed his crimes to the police, but he wasn’t going to take the blame for every unsolved crime in the district simply because he’d fitted their CCTV. True, it was a worrying coincidence that so many of his clients had become the victims of crime but that wasn’t his fault. He’d done his best to protect them but people did silly things and left themselves vulnerable.

The bus finally jolted to a halt at the stop he needed and he began towards the road where Paul lived. He knew his way. The first time he’d been to Paul’s house had been when he’d collected him as a new apprentice and the last when he’d dropped off the second instalment of £500 hush money. He’d had two mates with him and they’d shouted abuse and tried to make him look foolish; well, the boot was on the other foot this time. Now who was going to look foolish? It vaguely crossed his mind whether Paul’s two friends were in on this too, in which case he’d have them all.

He went up the short path, pressed the bell and heard it ring inside. A few moments later the door was opened by Paul’s mother.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said politely. ‘Can I speak to Paul?’

‘He’s not here,’ she said, eyeing him up and down.

‘Can you tell me when he’ll be back? I need to discuss something with him.’

‘I can but who’s asking?’ she said. They’d never met but Derek knew who she was from his research.

‘Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Derek Flint. Paul used to work for me.’

‘In that case, he’s left something for you,’ she said curtly.

‘He has?’ Derek asked, surprised.

‘Wait there…’

He stared after her as she disappeared down the hall, not knowing what to make of it. Paul had left something for him? What on earth could it be? He hadn’t known he was coming, had he?

Returning, she passed him a piece of paper. ‘That’s the address where he’s working. He said if you came here to tell you to go find him there.’

‘He was expecting me?’

‘Apparently. What do you want to see him for anyway?’

‘It’s a work matter,’ Derek said.

‘Is that everything then?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ He returned down the path as the front door closed sharply behind him.